


i will love you 'til you love yourself

by cavalreapers



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavalreapers/pseuds/cavalreapers
Summary: “It’s only four in the morning.” Raihan remarks, and squints at the clock on the bedside table, “Maybe we should—”“Call from: Leon.”The announcement from Raihan’s rotom phone shocks the pair, and it shows on their faces, plain as day.-abuse and grooming over the years has left leon feeling broken and rose's arrest only shatters him further.this is about picking up the pieces.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan/Nezu | Piers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> leon's an abuse victim and has been broken down by rose in this one so he's going to seem different from how he acts in the game! everyone will seem different actually. 
> 
> please heed the warnings and take care.

There’s something gentle in the way Raihan moves Piers, but any descriptors for the grace of his hands along his ribs and sternum die in his throat. It makes his head swim. The way he guides his skinny hips, tilts him up and into him; it softens Piers’ heart, spent and warm in their shared afterglow.

Bid the rest of him to melt in kind, though. They’re still new enough to their nights together that Piers won’t let on to the dripping, spinny feelings that Raihan gives him when he puts him where he wants him or kisses his temple. Piers suspects that Raihan bites back parts of himself as well, but everything he  _ does _ show is so genuine and kind that he doesn’t find himself wanting too desperately, hungrily for more from him like a starving yamper.

He can wait.

This is more like a leisurely stroll down the neck of a guitar, a lazy ballad that doesn’t need to rush like the other frenzied, kinetic songs of Piers’ life.

“I like your hair down.” Raihan moves in to rake his hands into the tresses, “You should wear it like this more often.”

“Mm.” Piers hums, doing his best to stay nonchalant, “Maybe. I feel a little more ‘dressed’ when its styled.”

He places a hand at Raihan’s wrist despite himself.

“You’re …”

Again the words die; his face heats up, and if Raihan notices the blush that crawls across his skin, he doesn’t mention it.

“I’m … ?” Raihan coaxes him gently, though his lips quirk up in a grin that always the preamble to some teasing.

“Putting me to sleep. With your hands like that.” he mumbles lowly.

“It’s only four in the morning.” Raihan remarks, and squints at the clock on the bedside table, “Maybe we should—”

“Call from: Leon.”

The announcement from Raihan’s rotom phone shocks the pair, and it shows on their faces, plain as day.

“Answer it,” Piers says, after a measured pause from the pair amid the ringing and buzzing, “Something might be wrong.”

Raihan moves to do so, feeling a strange thrill shoot up his middle, caught in the space between anticipation and dread at the unknown reason for a call this early.

“Leon?” he goes, then clears his throat.

“I … I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Leon’s voice is quiet on the other end, but the edges of his words slur and blot.

Oh no.

“What’s wrong, Leon?” he murmurs, and he sits up against the headboard.

“I’m so alone, Rai.”

“Where are you?”

“Rose Tower. It’s so empty and bad in here. It feels horrible.”

“Maybe you should head home, bro.” Raihan says evenly, then tacks on, “Have you been drinking?”

Piers seems worried, judging by the look on his face.

“A little.” he admits, “I found a bottle of wine I got the Chairman a while ago, figured, ‘fuck it’.”

“Why are you in the Tower? It’s so late.”

“The police wanted me to go through his stuff with ‘em tomorrow, but I wanted to first.” his voice goes quieter and quieter over Raihan’s ears; the end of his sentence trails off weakly.

“Leon …” Raihan swallows thickly, “You should head home … But do you want me to come out tomorrow with you? To help go through his office?”

The offer tumbled out of his mouth before he could really think about it, and he wrings his hands together, pressing the nails into his palm hard.

“I don’t know.” Leon mumbles, continuing, “I think so. Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll head out at ten, how ‘bout that? Go home and sleep, bro.” he coaxes, voice dropping low to a tone he hasn’t used with Leon in ages.

“Okay. I’m sorry if I woke you. Good night, Raihan.”

“Shoot me a text when you get home. See you, mate.”

He hangs up then, and lets his eyes slip shut as he exhales, if only to ignore Piers’ remarks and concern for a moment.

This is just something that will embarrass Leon in the morning. He will feel horrible and weak and small and for that, Raihan wishes Piers hadn’t been present. It’s not that he doesn’t want Piers to disappear, but rather it’s that he doesn’t want others to see the beloved Galar champion so wounded, so broken.

The way he shrinks in on himself when he feels small and defeated … It had become all-too common as their relationship fizzled out and eventually ended.

It makes Raihan feel a depth of regret and sorrow that hurts to remember.

“So you’re heading to Wyndon in the morning?” Piers asks gently, and draws the covers up and over his skinny shoulders.

Raihan could kiss him for keeping Leon’s name out of his mouth, for not voicing probing questions or tutting and judging.

“Yeah. Leon’s supposed to go through Rose’s office and isn’t … Well because of it.”

The silence is heavy, then. Oppressive.

“I can imagine. It’s good you’ll be there for him.” Piers says, finally, and moves closer to Raihan, “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Leon texts him a simple, “I’m home,” and Raihan sends back a dragon emoji before settling in closer to Piers.

An hour or so after attempting to lay down and sleep, Piers crawls out of bed and heads out to the balcony to smoke and smoke and smoke. As expected. It’s only when he slips back inside and into the bathroom to run the shower that Raihan allows himself to slip down into oblivion, at least for a little while. 

If only to get the bad feeling in his gut to hush, he begs oblivion to pull him under.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn thanks for the kudos and comments and bookmarks guys i'm so happy i hooked y'all. i'm gonna try to update weekly from here on out!
> 
> i made a new twitter if you wanna follow -- i'll be taking drabble requests soon i think! it's @VESIOUU

The air in Wyndon — in Galar — is tenuous and strange, as though one could pluck the tension from any given voice floating on the wind like a harp string. Everyone’s talking about the Chairman. Everyone’s talking about the finals. Everyone’s talking about Eternatus.

Leon wants it all to stop.

The ride up from the ground floor to the Chairman’s office used to make him dizzy back when he was younger. He always put on airs like he was meant to be there at the top, talking at length of this sponsor, that advertisement, a magazine spread concept, at a time when he couldn’t yet play the game. The Chairman made him nervous, then, but he’d never let on, because even a plucky little boy from Postwick at age ten realized how to pretend while he learned how to deal with grown-ups and their politics proper.

Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

The lift stops.

It’s like everything he learned over the years got left on the first floor.

He steps off and into his office, and if the hammering of his heart were to stop any time soon he’d be grateful.

It doesn’t, of course, only kicking up the tempo faster and harder when he sees Raihan.

He’s talking with one of the policemen, and Leon wants to kick himself for inviting him out in the first place. What was he thinking? Was he that much of a useless lightweight?

Where had the Champion gone?

It seems as though Rose took that part of Leon with him, too.

“Aye, mate.” Raihan greets him, raises a hand; he’s with one of the policemen. There’s four of them, plus Raihan and Leon and Oleana. 

He hasn’t really talked to Oleana since the arrest, either.

He imagines she’s feeling as hollow as he is, but the look on her face and everything about her is composed and still. She looks  _ bored _ , even.

He doesn’t know where to look, but all his eyes want to see is Raihan, just to answer the questions that clattercrash in his brain, all violence and color.

Raihan looks good, looks bright and alive and the smile he affords Leon is warm and casual; it’s as though they’re meeting on the pitch for an exhibition match, two on two against their friends. Or maybe it’s warm and casual in the sense that Raihan begs normalcy from Leon through himself, hoping Leon will mirror the feelings.

He doesn’t.

Instead he draws up closer to Oleana, Raihan, and the officer.

“Ah, there you are, Leon.” says the detective, “I hate to drag you out here for this but … Rose is cooperating, but he said you might need to be present for what’s behind this panel.”

Leon swallows thickly as he motions to the nearest wall; there’s a little, secret number pad set there, and he draws up closer to it. He doesn’t know what’s behind it, didn’t even know it existed. While his heart hammers in his chest and through his throat, he punches in the numbers. 708807.

The pad gives a satisfying click, and the door swings outward.

“Whoa.” Raihan mumbles, “I’ve been here plenty of times but I never knew there was …”

“There’s probably some more rooms I don’t know about myself.” Leon scritches at his chin, “He’s … like that.”

The other officers file into the room; Leon can’t tell what’s in there from where he stands, and he makes no move to peer or trek inside. Oleana, however, touches his arm gently and follows the others into the room.

There’s shuffling and low voices for a moment as they get their bearings about the room, and Leon’s attention is once more focused on Raihan.

“Thanks for coming out.” he says, finally, “It wasn’t very becoming of me to call last night, but you’re—”

“Hey, ain’t no thing.” Raihan waves a hand to dismiss the words, “So don’t sweat it. You’ve seen me at uglier times than that, y’know?”

While they’re both charismatic and extroverted and generally good at carrying on conversations, Raihan hasn’t had the wind taken out of his sails like Leon has — he’s grateful for that, at least, and he’s all soft and thankful smiles at him.

“Uh, Leon? Raihan?” one of the officers calls, “You might wanna come in here.”

Leon feels his heart drop to his middle from the tone, finds himself moving into the room without looking at Raihan again. Inside the room is a row of incubators in various sizes; the heat from the room is dizzying, but he stands still.

There’s only one egg present, in one of the larger incubators.

“It’s labeled ‘cufant’.” says Oleana slowly, “I …”

“Do you know what all this is?”

“He was … He was trying to breed his Copperajah, for … ideal features. I think he was working with others in Macro Cosmos on some theories about breeding and Dynamaxing, but we never talked about it.”

She looks ill, pale.

“Do you know anything about this, Leon?”

“No.” Leon admits. “Can I see the egg?”

“Sure.”

Leon draws closer to it, looking over to Raihan; Raihan takes the glance as his cue to come closer as well. The white-and-green speckled egg looks fine, basking in the warmth of the heater above and about it.

“I don’t know how long this has been here, but … Eggs do better with warmth  _ and _ other Pokemon.” Raihan says finally, “They’re not really meant for set-ups like this.”

Raihan has had more forays into breeding his pokemon than Leon has with his. While Leon is the champion — and therefore learned in many subjects regarding pokemon — this is one area he’s not terribly well-versed in.

“Would one of you take the egg?” a detective asks, “I’d hate to leave it here …”

“How ‘bout it, champ?” Raihan nudges Leon. “You need to round out your team more, maybe a steel-type would be good for you.”

Leon considers training a baby pokemon; they’re generally an even-tempered line that’s not terribly hard to raise. The lack of difficulty inherent in the growth of that evolution line isn’t what stays on his mind, however. It’s the thought of being so close to something that’ll remind him of Rose.

He wants to wash his hands of Rose entirely, to push all of his influence out from underneath his skin and to live in spite of the vast, empty space. He doesn’t want this pokemon.

Yet he comes out to trace a finger down the shell of the egg, warm with promise and life, thinking that he doesn’t want any other being to be left bereft in the wake of Rose’s arrest, either. No matter if it’s a token to remember Rose by or not, no one else — human or pokemon — deserves to be so bare, so empty, so still and devoid.

“When it hatches I can pass it off to Hop.” he murmurs, the words bubbling up and out of him without much thought. “I think he needs to round out his team more than me.”

The end sentiment gets a wry grin out of him as he turns to Raihan, “His win against you was a bit too narrow, I think. I know he’s capable of completely stomping you.”

“Tch.” Raihan scoffs, but the corner of his mouth quirks up too, “Rookie luck.”

“Sure, sure.” Leon waves a hand, but then reaches out to lift the egg from the incubator, grip careful but strong.

He feels a little more human in that moment, the weight of the baby cufant encased inside keeping him weighted, grounded. For a few precious moments following, he doesn’t think of Rose or the wreckage he left behind. He thinks of pressing onward and bringing the baby cufant into the world.

“I’ll take good care of it.” he promises, to himself and to those present before him.

“Of course you will, boss.” Raihan claps him on the shoulder gently. The ease of his tone lifts the gravity out of Leon’s voice.

Leon keeps the egg close to his Charizard while they finish combing over the office; there’s nothing really of note besides the incubation room. Rose has been cooperating with the officers, but they still made a point to dig in deep.

The detective makes sure that everything Leon himself knows of is brought to light — it’s nothing they don’t know of already. From there, Leon is released from his duties. Outside of Rose Tower, Leon and Raihan drink in the air of the morning; the latter’s all lazy-grins while Leon searches for something to say.

“Thanks, mate. Again.” Leon says finally, and the grin Raihan is afforded shines warm and true, however brief it is, “I appreciate your help today.”

“No problem.” his own smile broadens and brightens, “I’m around if you need me … that hasn’t changed.”

Leon tears his gaze away from Raihan’s immediately, looks to the ground. A wellspring of incomprehensible feeling boils and bubbles up in his chest, and it’s then that Charizard moves closer, nudging Leon’s shoulder with his snout.

It’s saudade, he thinks. Their breakup was amicable enough, but the emotions and circumstances surrounding it were messy and too much. It hurts to think about it, hurts to be next to him now that they’re left without purpose, without others around them to distract from the inevitable feelings.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” Raihan asks, scratching at the back of his head, suddenly the picture of nerves.

“No, it’s … Thank you.” Leon manages, “I’m just a space case today, I’ll be all right.”

Raihan’s brow furrows and he doesn’t say anything; rather, he searches. The silence pulls for two beats, three.

“If you say so. But … I mean it. Just text me whenever.” he says, and his voice drops in volume, hand moving to his side, “I don’t want you feeling alone.”

The words there carry so much more than their face-value, and Leon stiffens at all the implications. He knows, he cares,  _ he sees the Chairman for all the evil that he is _ —

Leon sucks in a deep breath and wills the flurry of thought to calm.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, and puts on a smile he hopes is reassuring, “So don’t worry.”

“All right, mate. I’m especially curious about that egg, so keep me posted, yeah?” Raihan drinks in a deep breath, “I’m off then.”

“See you.”

There’s no hug, no fist-bump, nothing more than a nod shared between them; Raihan parts from Leon on his Flygon, feeling strange and worried and grateful that it’s over all at once.

* * *

Raihan gets home, he gets to breathe deep and certain for what feels like the first time all day. It catches under the nerves and anxieties the day brought about, lifting them up for him to center and feel.

It’s not without its discomfort.

Moving through the apartment he seems to be on autopilot, mind stuck on the image of Leon’s countenance left hollow in the wake of the storm that was Rose. He worries at his lip, looks towards his phone, thinking about shooting him a text.

His two most recent message threads are from Leon and Piers, and he finds it funny that he spends so much time deciding between them; at least, in a sardonic sort of way.

But recent memory pulls Piers to the forefront of his mind — wry grin, messy hair, snark and wit and, God, that low singing voice reserved for him and only him — and he finds himself tapping his name.

> TO: Piers
> 
> Can I come over? I’ll bring your favorite beer

He texts back quickly.

> FROM: Piers
> 
> Sure
> 
> Are you trying to bribe me tho
> 
> TO: Piers
> 
> Can’t a guy provide for his loving partner without being accused of an ulterior motive
> 
> Also yeah I want head
> 
> FROM: Piers
> 
> Fuck off
> 
> See you soon

He’s all grins again, going through his apartment to gather things he’ll need for a night over at Piers’ place. 

The flight over on his Flygon is through a clear sky; the higher and faster they go, the further away Raihan feels from the rest of the day.

They land in Spikemuth somewhere in the late afternoon, and he gives his thanks to his pokemon before returning him. He picks up Piers’ favorite beer at the usual corner store and does not hesitate to duck into another store boasting advertisements for chocolate for one’s partner; the way the window writing puts it, his relationship with Piers will  _ absolutely fail  _ if he doesn’t buy this.

Spikemuth is wild.

Armed with beer and chocolate, he sets off again for Piers’ place a couple blocks away.

He lets himself in, and Piers is sitting at a kotatsu; it's a common place for him, which never fails to amuse Raihan. It’s the middle of summer.

Arms hidden behind his back, he goes, “Hey babe. I got you presents.”

“Are you gonna make me pick right or left?” Piers asks, lowering his glasses. There’s a few notebooks scattered on the table top. He flexes and curls his fingers after dropping a pen. Must be writing music.

  
“I —  _ no _ ,” Raihan backtracks, and scoffs as though he’d never think of something so lame, “Of course not.”

Piers’ laughter is stark and loud and, God, Raihan always loves that sound even if it’s at his own expense. It puts a smile on his face, genuine and warm. 

Raihan can still make something better of his day — the hours prior and all the awkwardness be damned. A small whirlwind of a voice pipes up in him, tells him, “it’d be worth it just to hear Piers laugh again”.

And, ah, Raihan can’t tear his gaze away from his partner, shining and smiling and tired-looking but so glowing despite that look.

_ I’ve got it bad already, don’t I? _


End file.
